


sunrise

by Casia_sage



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Metaphors, Pre-Slash, Requited Love, Sort Of, are ya'll really surprised tho, literally just space metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:09:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casia_sage/pseuds/Casia_sage
Summary: Anatole is the sun itself. Everything revolved around him, until he eventually burns up everything around him.





	sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, my dudes...I wrote this during my English class and I'm tired.

His name is entirely fitting, Fedya often thinks. A French name meaning sunrise. And Anatole Kuragin is definitely like a sunrise; all pale and golden and elegant. Hell, Anatole is the sun itself. Everything revolves around him, until he eventually burns up everything around him. But while he’s bathed in the blinding sunlight that is Anatole’s radiant smile, he thinks that he wouldn’t mind if the beautiful boy in front of him burns him up in a blaze of fire (and kisses). Anatole is the sun; Fedya’s world goes dark when he’s not there.  
If Anatole is the sun, then Fedya must be the moon, people say. But Fedya can't even see himself on the same plane as Anatole. He is not celestial and bright, he is a sunspot. He is a small spot of darkness in the vastness that is his sun, a temporary phenomena. 

His love for this sunrise boy is microscopic compared to all of the women. Fedya had wondered if Anatole had ever really been in love, or if he was even capable of loving someone. The night after Anatole’s wedding, when the blond boy had had far too much vodka and could hardly stand, had lied his head against Fedya, cried, and told him, “I’ll never be able to love someone now. I’ll never be able to marry the person I fall in love with.” Fedya had just let him cry against his shoulder. “I don’t love her.” Fedya never questioned Anatole’s ability to love ever again. 

All the women that Anatole fucks makes Fedya feel sick. He wonders how many hickies on that pale, delicate skin it will take to replace all of the dark, painful bruises. How many belts around his wrists, tying him to bedposts, it will take to replace the memories of his father’s belt whipping through the air.  
Anatole drinks too much when he wants to forget it all, and Fedya drinks with him to try and forget that he’s in love with him (the vodka only makes the longing worse). What a pair they make. 

The sun is setting, but Fedya doesn’t mind, because he’s got his own sunrise. They’re drinking, Anatole is sprawled out across the silk sofa, uniform unbuttoned. They’re both tired and the only warmth is the burning heat of the alcohol and the closeness of their bodies. Fedya somehow finds his fingers dancing across the younger boy’s skin. Anatole is pulling him closer, or Fedya is leaning in closer, at the moment, he can’t tell. But those soft, pink, plush lips are pressed against his, and he vaguely wonders if he’s dreaming. He’s burning up. He’s being swallowed whole. He’s _alive_. Anatole Kuragin is kissing him and he tastes like vodka and peppermint and honey. Fedya Dolokhov is kissing Anatole Kuragin and he realizes that it took half the women in Russia just to distract Anatole from kissing him. He’s kissing Anatole Kuragin, and though he is the sun, Fedya is not a sunspot or the planets orbiting around him. He is not a collection of metaphors. Fedya is the one who holds him at night. He’s the one who loves him more than anything.  
Maybe it’s because Anatole is beautiful and he is broken and Fedya has been alone for such a long time. Or because Fedya is kissing him, but it doesn’t burn him. No, it feels like warm, sunny mornings and cold, winter nights spent drinking. Or because, when he’s with Anatole, the sun never sets. But, no matter the reason

**they are in love**.

**Author's Note:**

> Authors are F U E L E D by comments


End file.
